Sometimes, I'm just rolling along and I'm suddenly hit upside the head with the realization I've been doing something lame and stupid for years.

Case in point: Granola. Why have I been buying granola? I feel like such a dope for having paid Kellogg's to make a substandard version of it for me.

It's painfully quick and easy to make. It creates a warm, homey aroma in your kitchen. It's fresh. It's yummy. It's cheap. And when you make it at home, you can put whatever you want in it. Looking to make it healthier? Toss in some extra oat bran. Not a big fan of raisins? No problem. Love hazelnuts more than life itself? Go nuts. Literally.

This stuff is good with milk, nice for crunch over yogurt, ice cream, fresh fruit or pudding. Get yourself a big tin of rolled oats and forage for some dried fruit and nuts in the back of your cupboard. Don't be a rube like me. Stop buying granola. Take this recipe and fly free, little sparrow.

DIY Granola Base Recipe
4.5 cups rolled oats (NOT instant)
1/2 tsp nutmeg
2 tsp cinnamon
2 Tbsp molasses
1/2 cup maple syrup
1/3 cup canola oil (or another light, unflavored oil)

Heat oven to 350F. Mix ingredients (add in 1 cup of your favorite chopped nuts or seeds, if you wish: sunflower seeds, sesame seeds, walnuts, cashews, hazelnuts, almonds, pecans, etc.) Spread the mix on a sheet tray and bake 15-20 minutes, stirring once or twice during baking to cook evenly. Cool tray on a rack, stirring occasionally. Add dried fruit, if desired, after granola has cooled.

Try: coconut flakes, macadamia nuts and dried pineapple ...or hazelnut and cranberry ...dried cherries and almonds ...dried apple and walnut

Damn. How much do I love this? Why didn't I think of it first? Genius!

Via the Food Section, it's "The Crackers."

You know, it's true... flattery really is the sincerest form of imitation...

As much as I adore hot chocolate and wooly sweaters, I've started (with a bit of guilt, perhaps, for not "living in the moment") looking forward to soothing, warm days full of far-more-robust farmers' markets and lots of springy fresh little things such as garden peas, morels, asparagus, ramps and tiny lettuces.

As well, spring brings a profusion of marshmallows. In particular, marshmallow chicks, which sell by the truckload for a very short period of time leading up to Easter. As much as I'm certain their parent company (a candy company disturbingly called "Just Born") would like to see greater sales of marshmallow ghosts at halloween and marshmallow trees for the holidays, Easter is truly that one shining moment in the sun for marshmallow novelty candy. There's just something so weird and lovely about the marshmallow Peep.

I don't even actually eat the little sugarbombs (I'm more of a dark chocolate girl, truth be told). I simply enjoy looking at them, individually or stacked in trios, sporting pastel hues and blank, soulless faces. But don't think for a moment I'm the only one hypnotized by Peep love. People cherish marshmallow Peeps for experiments, interior design, target practice and strategy wargames, not to mention a legion of crazed fans wrapped in marshmallow idolatry.

Think making pastel marshmallow treats is child's play? Maybe you want to try your hand at a few marshmallow concoctions of your own? You'd best consult the Howstuffworks "How do they make marshmallows?" guide. Good luck, and may the Peeps be with you.

And why not?

Manchego, the creamy, nutty, Spanish sheep's milk cheese, is like my new favorite pair of jeans.. the ones I finally tracked down after months (or years) of questing like Don Quixote across the landscape. I maybe paid a little much for 'em, but they make me terribly happy, so I chart 'em in the "so very worth it" category.

And like my favorite denim, Manchego fits just right. It's versatile (terrific melted, a star in salads, and yummy straight up), it's got style, it dresses up easily, it ages beautifully and it makes you look good at parties. Just toss that baby down on a pretty plate with some strips of fruity quince paste. Talk about Don Quixote and your ever-impending trip to Spain for a while while you take down a rioja gran reserva.

What more could you ask from a humble country cheese?

Say you're doing a lot of butchering and you've got a few dozen extra pounds of lard or tallow. Sure, you can bake a few pies or whip up some bird feeders to impress your friends and neighbors, but you may find you're still burdoned by a weighty mass of fat.

What's an inventive, enterprising soul to do?

My friends, the answer is soap. Home-brewed soap is terribly economical, endlessly customizable and all-natural. Better yet, soapmaking is a hobby that captures an element of danger, thanks to the potentially corrosive lye one must use to transform your chosen pile of nasty fat into beautiful bars of sweet-smelling goodness. (Go watch "Fight Club" again for a reminder of lye's effects on human skin.)

Whether you're going the All-Vegetable route, or you're more into Animal Fat Soaps, you can find all manner of helpful hints for managing your kitchen chemistry experiments at Miller's Homemade Soap FAQs. Also check out the kickin' Soap Cookin' tutorial on Craftster.com.

Lest you need yet another compelling reason to make soap, I'll remind you that it may just be your patriotic duty to learn this ancient art. After all, "when the lights go out on Western Civilization, where will you get your soap?"

It's gorgeous outside, with bright sun and mild temps, and I'm fantasizing about a frosted mug with a cool, sweet pour of gently carbonated root beer. mmm...

Via the Food Section comes the Wurlington Bros. Press Great American Root Beer Showdown.

Hell, yeah. Bring it on!

Valentine's day's signature candy... some would claim it's chocolate. Since I consider dark chocolate to be a major food group, a single-holiday association is terribly restrictive. Others are all about the "conversation hearts," but I've always found them to be chatty, chalky, cloying. Their colors seem faded, their sentiments too common.

To me, Valentine's Day will always be about the redhots. There's something simultaneously so vixenish and second-grader cute in those shiny candy shells. Known in the confections field under the far-too-formal generic title "cinnamon imperials," a handful of these little guys act like fireworks in the mouth, leaving you with cinnamon-fresh breath, a bright red tongue and a quick sugar high. And isn't that a bit more representative of the kind of love Valentines Day usually promotes?

This day, I take time to pay homage to valentines, romantic love and a million tiny droplets of sweet cinnamon with the REDHOTS Virtual Tour.

thanks to T.S. for the "cinnamon imperials" image.

The sun shone, the wind subsided, and all of New York stuffed into a few miles' space to gawk at The Gates.

NYC restaurants are on a saffron kick these days, all aswirl with excitement over Cristo's miles of billowing fabric. I went today, and indeed... in the right beam of sunlight I could see saffron.

It's not that I don't love saffron. Truth is, I'm just mad about saffron. (heh.) But what I saw was tangerine. Miles and miles of tangerine. Flattened Clementines strung up in sheets. My eyes thus attuned to the color, I saw it everywhere for the rest of the afternoon. Tangerine scarves, tangerine subway seats, tangerine balloons and sweaters and traffic cones.

So, in honor of The Gates and the tangerine, which both have a fleeting season that will soon end, I offer up a tangerine salad reminiscent of thousands of orange sheets against thousands of bare trees.

Tangerine-Frisee Salad

vinaigrette: 3 Tbsp white wine vinegar, 1 Tbsp Dijon mustard, 1 tsp coarse-ground pepper, 1/2 tsp salt, 1/4 tsp sugar, 1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil

salad: 1 small red onion, very thinly sliced, 3 large tangerines segmented with peel and pith removed (or five small tangerines, peeled and segmented), 2 bunches frisee, stemmed, cut down, washed and dried

Cover the onion slices with ice water and let soak 30 minutes. Meanwhile, make the vinaigrette, whisking the vinegar with the mustard, pepper, salt and sugar. Pour in the olive oil in a thin stream, whisking constantly until all the oil is incorporated.

Drain the onions, pat dry with paper towels, and separate into rings. Mix the tangerines, onions and the frisee lightly. Drizzle in vinaigrette and toss to coat. Serve immediately.

ugh. a blogger publishing issue erased my post, and I'm too depressed to recreate it right now.

Here's the short version: Chinese New Year. Golden Unicorn restaurant in Chinatown. Awful Service. Decent Food. And a good time was had by all.

A photo of the Peking Duck sandwich preparation for your viewing pleasure.

Going through some ancient writing, I ran across this piece I did for cerdo.com, which has since morphed into the Twin Cities collective Squad19, which is terribly, terribly cool. Those guys are so cool I doubt they'd even talk to me anymore.

Regardless, here's a piece on meat Steve T. commissioned from me for those goofy, early days of collaborative content back when we all worked for a violently temperamental little man. Unfortunately, it appears just as relevant more than five years later. (Insert deep sigh here.)


Meat: The Most Powerful Icon in Your Refrigerator

Friends, in a time of flag-wagging, and jocular jingoism, I think we’re all a little more aware of the power of the symbol. That’s why I’d like to make a wild little proposal. What do you say we change up our national flag and make it a little more modern? My vision: three bold fields of red, white and blue, creating a background for a sizzling-hot steak.

Okay, so it doesn’t really capture the idealism and romance of liberty and justice for all, but think about it from the realism standpoint. What says “America” better than meat? Meat is no longer just food. Meat is power. Meat is strength. Meat is sex and religion and consumerism. These days, that dinner-plate variety steak, in all its bloody, gory glory, has sprouted new wings of meaning. Your steak has lifted off the plate and soared to a lofty perch among the ranks of everyday objects so saturated in judgment, subtext and connotation, they have morphed beyond their original shape into powerful icons. Think about it. The cross can’t go back to the time when it was an arrangement of a couple of sticks. The swastika won’t crawl back up the family tree to reminisce about its roots as a symbol of good luck and prosperity. Meat will never revert to simply representing a food group.

Let’s begin with the science. Meat is not a “leave no trace” kind of food. It takes thousands more gallons of water and acres of land to feed the livestock that will become dinner than it takes to simply eat plant-based cuisine. It’s simple math, really. One cow vs. ten thousand peanut-butter sandwiches. So meat, in essence, symbolizes the ultimate consumer food. And what nation is consistently the biggest consumer in the world? That’s right, kids.

And keep in mind that for many Americans, meat has a clear link with masculine power. To observe this trend in action, watch a little TV. Rent a few action films. Does Arnold toss salads? Not unless it's intended for comedy. Sensitive men reach for vegetables. But step away from the grill, girly men. You can’t keep a Marlboro man from demonstrating steak-flipping prowess. Our social norms tell us that strong, manly men hunt, prep, cook and eat meat. You won’t find barbequed portabella mushrooms over the hot coals of popular masculinity. In fact, commercials regularly intertwine machismo and meat, as evidenced in the old “Beef, It’s what’s for dinner” campaign. Tough-guy actor James Garner wasn’t just randomly chosen as the beef-council spokesman.

In a society that envisions tough-as-nails ranchers, cowhands and butchers as men, a salad-loving woman is properly aligned within her appointed gender role. She’s apppropriately soft, feminine and non-confrontational. The feminine woman remains attractive as she munches on a plate of vegatables. In contrast, vegetarian men are often viewed by popular culture as weak or emasculated.

On the other hand, a ravenously meat-eating woman can also be viewed as strikingly sexual. Weiner, sausage, manmeat, beefsteak, hot beef injection… meaty euphemisms make up a good portion of our phallic references. Singles bars are referred to as “meat markets.” Bodice-ripper model Fabio relayed in a 1998 court case that his manager was using him as a “piece of meat.” Perhaps the primitive mind buried in modern humans is still attracted to meat and blooming sexuality as signs of vigor, reproductive health, and the assured continuity of one’s genes. In any case, our fleshy words and phrases indicate that meat is also deeply intertwined with virility and sexual arousal.

Don’t forget that meat is a religious icon. With a little study of history and world theology, meat also shines across the globe a powerful religious icon, appearing in many spiritual beliefs and practices. For example, it’s reported that cannibalistic warriors ate the flesh of their enemies or heroes in an attempt to absorb in their best qualities. The Indonesian word “bakthi” has a translation similar to the notion of “chi,” or inner spirit. People’s bakthi could be gathered through cannibalism, taking trophy parts, and generating the spirit animal, to “express the taking of the internal spirit of the opponent and the expression by the practitioner.” Ritual cannibalism was performed by the Aztecs, people of the New Guinea Highlands, in Fiji and in some Pacific island areas.

It’s also metaphorically explored through most of the world’s great religious texts, including the Bible, in which Christ says, “I am the bread of life that came down from heaven. The bread I shall give is my flesh for the life of the world. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him. For my flesh is real food and my blood real drink” (John 6:52). Ritual animal sacrifice as a part of religious practice is even more widespread. In fact, flesh is so common in religion, it’s surprising there’s not more meat-based religious imagery.

Way, way back in 1991, artist Jana Sterbak stirred controversy at the National Gallery of Canada in Ottawa with her "Vanitas: Flesh Dress for an Albino Anorexic.” Sterbak’s 50 lb. flank steak garment outraged politicians and food-aid agencies. Helen Murphy, a museum spokeswoman, said "It can be quite repugnant, even to people who eat meat. People just aren't prepared in some cases to say this is art.”

Sterbak's piece, though shocking and revolting to some, reinforces the power of meat to stir up ideas beyond the notion of protein on a plate. Reject it, eat it, love it, hate it, worship or wear it, you can’t ignore it. Could anything better encapsulate the flavor of modern America?

I've been scratching my head for years at the success of Nolita rice pudding shop "Rice to Riches." Soon after it opened, I predicted a less-than-six-month opening-to-auction cycle. It shouldn't have worked. C'mon... rice pudding? An entire shop built around rice pudding? But this one-trick pony proved me wrong, riding strong for two years.

I was impressed at their ability to keep the place populated until news came out last week reporting owner Peter Moceo was serving up a $21 million sports gambling operation alongside all those risottos. It's sad, really. I always hope to have my pessimism proven wrong.

Meanwhile, it's fodder for comics and cynics, we can all enjoy a heapin' helpin' of Curbed's Rice To Riches Conspiracy Theories.

Not that I'm advocating crime or anything, but this rules:

Downtown WALK Signs in NYC

Okay, this is self-indulgent, but blogs are essentially self-indulgent anyway, and I managed to work in a food angle, so either skip it and wait for the Chinese New Year piece... or read on, allowing me a navel-gazing moment.

About 3 1/2 years ago, I acted in Planetfall, a little (read: DV film), independent, (read: no budget) sci-fi western (read: popcorn movie). They recently wrapped production and had a Minneapolis premiere last weekend, which sold out its first showing and seemed well received by the audience. (Helpful side note to anyone who might need to sign autographs for the first time... bring along your own Sharpie, and sign the paper part of the dvd insert, not the plastic case.) Box office totals for the weekend were $2,038 (beating out #7 ranked "Meet the Fockers" at $1,919, based on per-screen averages). Yay, us.

Sadly, the local critic who wrote it up gave this production one of the worst reviews I've ever read for an indie film. Honestly... this is a the kind of review that would make John Waters squeal with delight and print up a fresh batch of posters with nasty pull quotes all over 'em.

To be honest, I'm simply pleased we got a review at all ... but since she threw down the gauntlet, here's the reply I sent to the City Pages in which criticism of critics joins forces with a pizza analogy in the battle against obnoxious ignorance. Enjoy. Back to food tomorrow.

It’s a shame Kate Sullivan is so pleased with her ability to turn out a snarky comment. The self-satisfied glee with which she slams locally produced sci-fi feature Planetfall makes for such great copy, I almost forget that every low blow comes at the expense of accuracy and equity.

I’ll admit that movie critique is not my forte, but I can’t help but draw a comparison to something that is a bit more within my line of expertise: food writing. When reviewing a family-built pizza joint that focuses on local ingredients and techniques, I don’t criticize the size of the bankroll they used to build the place. I don’t slam young cooks when they don’t produce work on the same level as Mario Batali, Wolfgang Puck or Thomas Keller. And I sure as hell wouldn’t be so mean-spirited as to question the “hotness” of the hostess.

If Sullivan had done a bit of research into the goals and methods of the drive-in movie genre so adored by the Planetfall cast and crew, she might have printed something more evenhanded and genre-conscious. She might have called the effort gutsy and ambitious or even taken a moment to praise local filmmaking. She might have said (as the City Pages’ Rob Nelson did about Carschool’s first feature, “Go to Hell”) that Planetfall was “quite an achievement to have mustered (on a measly budget, yet).”

But the truth is this: open-minded and informed can’t hold a candle to cruel and dismissive when it comes to turning in copy that snaps.

Testicles, avocados and lawyers. This is why I'm in love with etymology:

"The history of avocado takes us back to the Aztecs and their language, Nahuatl, which contained the word ahuacatl meaning both 'fruit of the avocado tree' and 'testicle.' The word ahuacatl was compounded with others, as in ahuacamolli, meaning 'avocado soup or sauce,' from which the Spanish-Mexican word guacamole derives.

"In trying to pronounce ahuacatl, the Spanish who found the fruit and its Nahuatl name in Mexico came up with aguacate, but other Spanish speakers substituted the form avocado for the Nahuatl word because ahuacatl sounded like the early Spanish word avocado (now abogado), meaning 'lawyer.' In borrowing the Spanish avocado, first recorded in English in 1697 in the compound avogato pear (with a spelling that probably reflects Spanish pronunciation), we have lost some traces of the more interesting Nahuatl word."

--Dictionary.com

Tomorrow is groundhog's day... yet another holiday that's not actually a day off. (I swear in the midst of food poisoning convalescence this weekend I saw a commercial for a website rallying around my cry for more vacation for US workers. Something like saveourvactions.com. Of course, that website is nowhere to be found now that I'm healthy and able to look it up.)

In lieu of yet another plea for national vacation, I bring you, my friends, an awe-inspiring conpendium of Wild Game Recipes, including, yes, woodchuck, groundhog, whatever you'd prefer to call it. Ring in February in style this year! Roast a goundhog! Or a squirrel. Or a prairie dog or three. You never know when a natural disaster may force you to call upon such obscure culinary skills.